


When I think too much about it I can't breathe

by BrotherRyan



Series: Irondad and spiderson [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bruce is a DOCTOR doctor, Canon-Typical Violence, Crying, Endgame didn't happen, Funerals, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Irondad Bingo, Irondad Bingo 2019, Minor Character Death, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Psychological Hurt/Comfort, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony is a good dad, also infinity war didnt happen, i don't vibe with either of those story lines so i choose to forget they exist, thar be trauma here, there's some canon typical violence, theres vomiting in here like twice but it's not really graphic or anything, what's a timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrotherRyan/pseuds/BrotherRyan
Summary: "If you’re standing in a building as it begins to collapse, with the walls shaking around you, bits of outdated ceiling littering your living room carpet, it’s probably time to figure out the fire escape route. They have it taped to the door, in hotel rooms. They don’t have it taped to the door in the 75 year old apartment building in which Peter is currently standing. It smells bad in there, the air was probably stale with mildew before the blast from some new alien space ship thing tore through the sky directly at it. Now though, that stale scent intertwined with the tangy and bitter taste of fresh blood and phosphorus. If there was ever a time to have a map with all the available exits readily available, it was now. It was an apartment, though, not a hotel, and so the door that Peter backed into, dragging the unconscious body of a 17 year old boy was hauntingly naked."Or there's a battle and Peter finds himself in some trouble
Relationships: Happy Hogan/May Parker (Spider-Man), Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Irondad and spiderson [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825333
Comments: 14
Kudos: 103





	1. if i ever get back to queenstown

**Author's Note:**

> gm friends! i wrote u this, it's not done because its 11;05 and i am acting like i don't have to be up again in like 5 hours. i will probly update it soon though, once i write the rest. anyways i hope ur doing well, im thinkin abt y'all.
> 
> title is from funeral by phoebe bridgers which is a banger. also if u don't listen to her and u like sad indie music, tryna fill that lorde void, i think you'd prolly like her.
> 
> i didn't proof read this bc i have adhd and a degree in something i still don't reliably spell correctly, so here we are, we die like men

If you’re standing in a building as it begins to collapse, with the walls shaking around you, bits of outdated ceiling littering your living room carpet, it’s probably time to figure out the fire escape route. They have it taped to the door, in hotel rooms. They _don’t_ have it taped to the door in the 75 year old apartment building in which Peter is currently standing. It smells bad in there, the air was probably stale with mildew _before_ the blast from some new alien space ship thing tore through the sky directly at it. Now though, that stale scent intertwined with the tangy and bitter taste of fresh blood and phosphorus. If there was ever a time to have a map with all the available exits readily available, it was now. It was an apartment, though, not a hotel, and so the door that Peter backed into, dragging the unconscious body of a 17 year old boy was hauntingly naked. 

“Pete, you gotta get out of there, that shit’s going to blow and I don’t wanna explain that to May” Tony’s voice came through the coms, crackling and strained as he worked to keep civilians out of the blast zone. 

“I’m working on it,” Peter grunted, trying to lift the boy, keep his face covered, and open the door all at the same time. It was hard work. Before the bite, multitasking just meant spending half of physics doodling in the margins of his notebook. Now, though, it meant trying to keep a kid alive, trying to find a way out, and trying to manage the icy fear that ran through his own veins. His hands hurt, he was sore all over already. If he made it out of this alive, he was going to spend the subsequent hours sprawled out across Tony’s plush living room sofa, Gatorade in hand, TV on. If he made it out of this alive, he was going to _relax_ for a second. Give himself time to catch his fucking _breath._ That whole part of the plan was contingent on _not_ dying though, which was the tricky part.

“Pete, you’ve got incoming, I’ll try and cover you as best I can, but you gotta get out of there,” Sam’s voice echoed in Peter’s ear. 

“For fucks sake, can’t you see I’m trying?” He mumbled to himself before answering “Working on it” into his own microphone. 

He couldn’t explain it, the series of events that happened next. It was like in a cartoon, when the background shatters like it’s been hit with a baseball, big triangle shaped chunks falling down into TV sanctioned oblivion. It was just like that, except that nothing was perfectly shaped and instead of the wall behind him collapsing into nothing, it came down onto the carpet in front of him. 

“Pete,” Tony said, disapprovingly, or maybe condescendingly, Peter couldn’t figure it out, not that he had a whole lot of brain power left to spend on explicating his mentors exact tone, “You had better be fine or I swear to God-”

“Still fine, I think I’ll try and leave through the south side though, no point in taking the stairs if there's a shortcut, right?” Peter laughed shakily as he spun himself around, beginning the trek back across the demolished den, dragging the boy along with him. 

“I wish I knew your name,” Peter mumbled to the unconscious body, “I don’t know what to call you and we’re getting pretty close now that I’ve had my hands all up under your sweaty ass armpits for 15 minutes. I can feel the sweat dude. I have gloves on and I can feel it. It’s making you hard to hold onto, you know that?” 

He reached the end of the flooring, looking down to see the street below, littered with the wreckage of the still raging battle. He leaned the kid up against what remained of the wall, and scrubbed his hands up and down his face, trying to think, to gain his bearings, _something_ that would help him figure out how to bring this boy safely to the streets to be evacuated. He needed to make a plan, and he needed to do it before the rest of the building got absolutely _wrecked_ by those douchebags in spaceships. 

_Okay, plan time,_ Peter thought. “It’s a lot easier to figure out a solution to a difficult problem if we can split it up first, so we can find where we need to start,” His physics professor had said, earlier that week, under significantly less pressure. It still applied though, and Peter began to stand the boy up, leaning him up against his own thin frame. The boy was significantly bigger than he was, maybe he was a football player or a hockey player or something. In any case, Peter stood with his pelvis tilted forward and his chest leaned back, webbing their bodies together in such a way that the unconscious teen was laying his head against Peter's shoulder. Once they were stuck together, Peter made his move. 

“Dude this is going to _work_ and you’re too busy sleeping to see how cool I’m about to be.” Peter spoke, chin tilted downward so that his masked face brushed against the dark mop of curly hair.

“Alright, last civilian is secure, I’m heading out no-” Peter started into his microphone. An incoming rocket cut him off as it struck the foundation of their building, breaking down the structure floor by floor from the bottom up. Sam, who was still just outside, watched in horror as the textbook picture of a building demolition played out before his very eyes, taking Peter down with it. The sound he made wasn’t human, a cross between an upper register screech and a shout as he watched Peter leap from the sixth story just as it crumbled to dust and ash below him. 

Peter quickly reached out his hand, a thin web of fluid flying from his wrist, connecting to the building across the street. His momentum didn’t slow as he crashed through the window and rolled into what appeared to be a child’s bedroom. It was hauntingly empty in the way that ghost towns are. The scene before him had him thinking about the Netflix Chernobyl special, how the abandoned houses were left in a hurry, the evidence of recent activity obscured by a blanket of gray.There were toys scattered across the floor, the ash from the street below flitting around in place of dust. A well loved stuffed bear lay half tucked under the bed, its matted brown fur sparkling with microscopic bits of shattered glass. He had those glass beads that teddy bears often have for eyes. They were shiny and black, white scuff marks marring the surface from what can only be assumed to be the careless and reckless love of a toddler. Peter fixated on that, as he lay pinned beneath his own precious cargo.

“Okay, well, that wasn’t the plan,” he huffed, finding it hard to take a full breath. “I’m glad I could cushion your fall though,” he added sarcastically, bringing one hand around to support the teen he was currently strapped to as he made an effort to stand up. Just as he began to separate the two of them, the boy groaned, bringing his head to the side, drowsily opening his eyes. 

“Hey!” Peter said excitedly, “Hey dude, you’re alright, you’re okay, can you open your eyes for me?” He tried to sound encouraging, the way that Aunt May did when he woke up in the morning after he’d slept on the bathroom flood, fever ridden and vomiting. He tried to sound the way Tony did when he woke up in the med bay with a fresh concussion or stitches or a bone that needed setting. He tried, he really did. 

Predictably, though, the kid freaked out. He started thrashing around, trying to disentangle himself from the web, trying to put distance between himself and Peter. The cut above his eyebrow leaked fresh blood down his face as he moved, and Peter briefly took a moment to wonder how he was moving so quickly at all, given the _definite_ concussion he had sustained even _before_ the most recent blast. It was probably adrenaline, keeping his body moving, pushing the pain signals away from his confused and tired brain. He was jittery and obviously scared, his eyes now fully open, wide with terror.

‘Dude, you’re alright, okay?” Peter said, trying his best to keep his voice even as he raised both his hands placatingly toward the boy, who was now huddled against the opposite wall, having scrambled there the moment the two were detached. “I’m Spider-man, dude, I got this, we’re gonna be fine,” 

He really _really_ was trying to keep calm. But, if he was being honest with himself, the most recent blast had scared the shit out of him. It was far too close a call and he was absolutely sure he wasn’t going to be _enjoying_ his time of rest after all, if it turned out he was going to survive this. He was probably going to think about it and think about it and _think about it_ , replaying it in his mind when he closed his eyes like that falling sensation you get when you’re too tired in math class only _real_ this time, complete with images of the rapidly approaching asphalt. 

“Can you tell me your name?” Peter asked, trying to inch his way closer. They still had to get down to the street to get to safety and it was going to be much harder if he didn’t have some kind of control over both parties. 

The boy shook his head, tears springing to his eyes. He brought his shaky hand up to wipe at the blood that was nearing the top half of his eyelid. His face was pale and he looked so much younger then than his burly body suggested. It was hard to watch and had Peter _not_ been so handily bit by a radioactive spider and transformed into a superhero with this kids safety as a top priority, he would have looked away. He almost did it anyway. Fear that’s your own is hard enough to look at. Fear that you can _feel_ from someone else is a whole other story.

“That’s okay, that’s okay, but we have to get out of here, alright? It’s gonna be fine, but I have to get us to the ground. You got family or somethin’ I can help you find?” His voice came out shakier than he wanted it to. The boy nodded.

“M-my mom. I want- I want my mom.” He whispered, tears beginning to drip slowly down his cheeks. It was the unnerving kind of crying, the staring off into the distance, glassy eyed, broken kind that had Peter itching to avert his gaze again. 

“Alright, dude, we’ll get you to her, okay? But you gotta work with me. We’re gonna go back out that window, I’ll swing us back down to the street, okay? He nodded again and Peter began the arduous task of webbing the two together again. Once he had them situated again, he looped the kids arms around his shoulders. It could’ve been comical, like the position of an awkward middle school slow dance, had it not been under such precarious circumstances. 

“Okay here’s the plan,” Peter said, looping one arm around the boy as he inched them closer to the smashed in window, “I’m gonna swing us down to that lamppost over there, then to the one next to that. We’ll keep going like that until it’s safe to get down and then I can help you find your mom, alright?” He waited a short second for the boy to nod shakily into his collarbone. 

“Alright, hang in there dude, I’ll get us down. Keep your chin down, if you can, it’ll help keep your neck safe if we run into any issues.” And with that, Peter brought his remaining hand through the shattered glass and the duo was once again flying across the street, in a zig zag sort of pattern, just as Peter had promised. Maybe this would work out after all. Maybe they’d be fine. 

Peter couldn’t keep his thoughts from wandering to the poor kid in his arms. He could only have been a year or so older than Peter was himself, and it’s not like he was used to this sort of thing. For him, the terror and exhilaration that come from flinging yourself off rooftops and through windows would likely bring about the kind of trauma that takes a lifetime to overcome. Maybe he wouldn’t even get _that_ far. Maybe it would be the kind that you become friends with, that you get used to. In either case, he was probably applying to colleges. Maybe he was one of those early acceptance kids, on a full ride athletic scholarship. _Probably_ , Peter thought, _he looked the type_. He distracted himself, building a world for the kid he’d known for all of forty five minutes. 

When they made it to the barricades Tony had set up at the edge of the city, Peter lowered the pair down, doing his best to shield them behind a car that had been flipped onto its side. Barricade was a loose term, but it was better to be here than to be six floors up in a high rise seconds away from collapse

“Alright, dude,” Peter said, cupping the teens face and forcing him to look up from where he sat on the pavement “You remember your name?” 

“M-Mar- Martin”, he whispered, still not looking at Peter’s face, but rather over his shoulder at something in the distance.

“Alright Martin, nice to meet you, we gotta keep goin’, okay? Think you can walk a little for me? I promise the hard part is over we don’t have to go far.” Martin nodded shakily, before cautiously rising to his feet, swiping the blood away from his eyes once again. He swayed once he got to his feet and his face turned an unfortunately familiar shade of green, but he remained upright, for which Peter was grateful. He wrapped a sticky, gloved hand around Martins forearm and guided him quickly behind a nearby building. 

“We gotta try and stay outta sight, okay? We’re gonna be fine, we just don’t want to attract attention to ourselves,” Peter didn’t know if he was narrating to ease his own fears or Martin’s, but whatever the case, it was helping a little bit. 

“I, I don’t” Martin started, as he came to a stop, leaning up against the red brick of their newest cover, “I don’t feel too good,” That was all the warning that Peter got before the boy was doubled over, heaving onto his own shoes. Peter could argue that being a bystander to vomit was almost worse than being the vomiter, the smell hitting him as he turned his head to the side, pushing down his own nausea. May was a nurse, she did this type of shit every day and Peter _tried_ to be like her, to channel that energy. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, dude, I’m sorry,” He rambled, rubbing a hand up and down Martin’s back. He hoped he sounded like May. 

“I- I don’t think- I do- I don’t think I’m okay,” Martin said, breaking off into a harsh series of coughs that shook his core, the kind that had Peter wincing in sympathy. It was then that Peter looked down to the pavement.

The kid’s feet were coated in black goop, something of a cross between tar and barbecue sauce. That was definitely not a good sign. _Blood should be on the inside, blood should be on the inside, blood should be on the inside,_ Peter’s mind repeated. _Blood should be on the inside._

He didn’t say it though.

“No no no no no, you’re okay, you’re alright, you’re just a little banged up, okay? We’re gonna get you some help and then you’ll be good as new. Hang in there, you’re doing _so_ well,” He didn’t sound like May and he knew it.

“Kid, an update would be nice,” Tony’s voice cut through his panic, bringing him back up to the surface before he could sink back down into his own mind. 

“I, I need help, please” Peter hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding like that, like a scared little kid. This was part of the job, people got hurt. It’s just that the people he was accustomed to _seeing_ hurt though, were always on the other team, or at the very least capable of healing pretty quickly on their own. 

“That doesn’t clear things up for me, bud” Tony responded, his voice softer, gentler, this time. “I’ve got your coordinates and I’m on my way, can you tell me what’s wrong?” 

“I have a civilian, he needs, he needs help, Tony please,” It came out a whimper, which he hated. _Get it together, Parker, get it together, get it together, get it together._

“Alright, kiddo, I’ll be there soon, he’ll be okay.” 

Peter tried to turn his attention back to Martin, who was still leaning over, hands on his thighs, blood dribbling down his chin. Peter swiped at it with his thumb, that’s what May would do, wiping it on his pants. 

“You’re alright, you’re okay,” Peter repeated, running his grubby fingers through Martin’s hair, “Tony’s gonna be here soon and we don’t have to walk anymore. He’ll take you far away, somewhere safe, okay? He’ll get you some _good_ help, we’re gonna be just fine,”

Martin heaved again, bringing more blood up along with strings of dark maroon saliva. Peter _did_ close his eyes, then, praying for even one more ounce of strength, praying for Tony to hurry up and _get there_ to _help them._ And, in that split second, the building behind them let out a shutter before completely exploding, bringing bricks and chunks of furniture raining down around them, trapping them under a pile of rubble. 


	2. I won't make the same mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Pete, can you hear me?” He all but yelled over the coms, still directing his course of flight directly at the fallen structure. “Pete, come in, bud, you okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gm i am unfortunately, back at it again w another stupid lil story. i'm still not done, but u know how these things go. just tryna feel something or whatever. hope y'all are doing ok!
> 
> not proofread, we've been over this

Tony was on his way. He was close. He was so close, in fact, that when he finally set eyes on Peter, he could tell that the kid was having a rough time. A quick glance was all he got though, before a mushroom cloud explosion ripped up through the air behind him, bringing the building down. His own scream was drowned out by the roar of fire though the air. The only thought in his head, oh fuck, Peter. 

“Pete, can you hear me?” He all but yelled over the coms, still directing his course of flight directly at the fallen structure. “Pete, come in, bud, you okay?” 

The fact that he couldn’t see him was worrying. The kid was strong- wildly so. Why wasn’t he lifting the rubble and stumbling out, thumbs up, just like always? Tony just wanted to see him, to roll his eyes and chastise him for being reckless. He wanted to threaten to call May. He wanted to drag the kid back to the compound, sit his ass down on the couch and lecture him about being aware of his surroundings. He wanted to ask why he hadn’t heard the missile coming in with his super hearing. God, anger is so much easier than fear. 

The second he landed, he was digging. 

“Fri, heat signatures please,” He whispered to the AI, praying that this would be a rescue and not a recovery. 

“Mr. Parker has been located, sir” Friday spoke into his ear, his vision lighting up with the gloriously bright outline of a moving body just to his left, buried deep beneath a stack of concrete chunks. The pile was dense and dangerous, with spikes of rusted rebar poking out at odd angles, anchored in place by rough chopped blocks of cement. 

“Alright, Pete, let’s get you out, huh?” He mumbled to himself, making his way toward him, hastily grabbing at the rubble as he went. 

“Pete, you okay?” He shouted above the racket of the ongoing battle, “Can you hear me?” 

As he went to move the next slab of rock, Peter screamed. It was unnerving and it pierced through the air like the whistle of a firecracker. 

“Don’t!” He screamed, his breathing labored. Tony kneeled down and got his first glimpse of his kid. The scene was nightmare fuel to say the least. He was on his hands and knees, back arched, a chunk of rebar jabbed clean through his right shoulder, the other end coming out two or three inches on his front side, drip, drip, dripping blood down onto the rocks below. Only there weren’t just rocks below him. Peter was curved over a boy, probably a little older than he was, breathing shallowly in his unconscious state.

“Jesus, kiddo, what in hell am I gonna tell May this time? Huh? You’re making this job so much harder than it needs to be,” There was no edge to his voice as he tried to hold it steady. As he tried to ignore the fact that, had he shifted that rebar any more, his kid might have bled out in the middle of some desolate and unfamiliar zip code. Acknowledging somewhere in the back of his mind that the kid would probably start to heal before they even made it back to the compound did little to slow his racing heart.

“Mr. Stark-” Peter whimpered, whimpered. 

“I know, I know, buddy, I see it,” He said, eyeing the metal rod. 

“Please Mr. Stark, you gotta help- you gotta help him. Please- please get him out,” Peter was crying, he could tell even through the mask. 

“Alright, I’ll get him, bud, you gotta stay calm, okay? Take some deep breaths.” 

It took some maneuvering for sure, to wrestle the teen out from under Peter without causing him any more pain. His face was ghostly pale, with dark purple bags under his eyes. The cut over his eyebrow had drenched the entire right side of his head and was still sluggishly oozing. Things weren’t looking good, but that’s not what Tony said, because that’s not what you say in situations where things have gone this disastrously awry. You say something calming, you leave out the lie that everything’s going to be alright, sure, but you say something calming. Jesus Tony, he thought, Say. Something. Calming.

“Alright, Pete, I got him. I’m calling for backup now to get him to safety, but we gotta get you out too, kid.” 

“Don’- don’ take ‘im” He muttered, clearly running out of steam.

“What do you mean, don’t take him? We gotta get everybody out, remember? Sam and Cap and Nat are all still out there fighting, this thing’s not over yet,” This was alarming. Scratch that- this was fucking terrifying. 

“Please- don’ take ‘im, I have- haveto take ‘im. T-told ‘im I would fin’ his- his mom,” The words were getting harder to push out and Tony could tell. He knew that feeling, like his very nerves had been blocked up with cotton, making his speech irritatingly slow. He didn’t like to see the kid this out of it, it was unsettling.

“I’ll call Sam, okay? He’ll come pick him up and take him to the hospital, alright? He has to get some medical attention, bud, he’s in bad shape,” As soon as the words left his mouth he knew he had made a mistake, Peter’s breathing became more erratic, hitched, and each sharp intake of breath shifted his torn-to-hell shoulder on the rebar, causing fresh blood to trickle down to the ground. 

“No, no- he he has to be o-okay, I- I saved- him. He’s gonna go to- to college. He has, he just has to find- find his mom,”

Jesus, okay.

“Deep breaths, bud, Sam is on his way, okay? We’ll get him taken care of and then he can find his mom. We have to stay calm though, right? Getting worked up isn’t gonna help us right now.” He directed his attention to the coms, where he spoke quietly, doing his best to keep his cool.

“Requesting backup to evacuate a critically injured civilian, please hurry, Spidey’s involved in this one”

“On,” Sam panted “my way”

“You hear that, kid, Sam said he’s coming.” 

It’s difficult, in that situation, to split your attention between a kid you love and a kid you know is loved by someone else. The boy with his head in Tony’s lap was not looking any better as the time dragged on, a slow trickle of blood made its way past thin, chapped lips, pooling by the kid’s ear. His breathing was shallow and labored and it looked like each breath hurt. They probably did.

When Sam finally arrived, peeling the nearly lifeless body from Tony’s arms, cradling him against his strong chest, Peter was bordering on delirium. The instant that both his hands were free, Tony was all over his kid. Making the split second decision to slowly ease him off the rebar which had impaled him, then applying as much pressure as he could to the gaping hole in his shoulder. 

The screaming was haunting. Screaming tends to be that way, but it’s different when it’s someone you love. It always is. You can’t help it. If there’s one thing that love is really good at, it’s magnifying pain. Watching Peter writhe under his own hands was disquieting beyond belief and when the blessed healing factor began to take over, clotting the blood long enough to safely move him, he almost yanked his hands back. Instead he pressed a strip of cloth to the kids own hands, instructing him to hold pressure to the wound.

“Spidey got a little banged up, you guys think you can handle this from here?” Tony asked over the coms. The fighting had died down somewhat as Nat and Cap and Bruce took care of the stragglers that still remained in the dusty orange sky.

“Yeah,” Steve gasped out between punches, then followed by “He ok?”

“He’ll be fine, just probably better get him to medical,” Tony downplayed. He wasn’t sure why he did that, other than that’s what he always did for himself. This wasn’t fine, though. His hands were covered in blood that wasn’t his and he didn’t have time to panic about it. He didn’t have time to feel nauseated as he realized with horror that he had given Peter a strip of that other boy’s mangled t-shirt to stop the bleeding. He didn’t have time and this wasn’t okay. 

“Alright, kiddo, let’s get you home, huh?” He said, picking Peter up and holding him tightly against his own body. He almost wished he didn’t have to wear the suit, if just for the comfort of feeling Peter’s warmth, feeling that he was alive. 

He wished things were different. He knew, logically, if Peter wasn’t Spiderman, the two of them never would have met, he’d probably still be an alcoholic with a gambling problem. He’d probably still be terrorizing Pepper at every turn, only to forget what he was supposed to apologize for come morning. Would it have been worth it though, to keep him safe? That’s another thing that love is good for, making you think the two of you might have been better off without it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading it would make me happy if u commented and told me what u like and don't like i love u ur important to me


	3. If I ever get back to Queenstown (I might not come home)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back at it again for a third chapter that not one soul asked for. it is not proof read, so i can't wait to scroll through and find all the glaring errors when its not 12:09 am on a work night. anyways i hope ur doing well friends, thanks for sticking around this long

Waking up after something like that is foggy. It’s heavy eyelids and head that  _ throbs _ to the beat of the heart monitor. It’s too bright lights that turn your closed-off vision red and a smell of antiseptic and bleach that fills the space so completely that it’s overpowering. A soft voice coaxed him out of his barely conscious haze as he fought to the surface of his own mind.

“ _ -said he’ll be okay”  _ then a pause, then “ _ -if anything changes”  _

He couldn’t focus on the words and the only thought in his head was how  _ bad  _ his mouth tasted. Like copper and dirt and not brushing your teeth before bed. He wanted to ask for water. That was his plan. But when he opened his mouth, the sound that came out was a sort of garbled moan. 

“Pete?  _ I think he’s waking up. See you when you get here.”  _ And then there were hands on him, softly grabbing at his hand, careful around the IV line there, one on his cheek. A thumb stroking across his cheekbone. Cupping at his jaw. Bringing him back “Can you open your eyes for me, bud?” 

He wanted to but  _ God,  _ it fucking  _ hurt.  _ When he finally managed it, he was looking directly into Tony’s worried face, watching as a smile split the tension held there. 

“Hi” was all he could manage, still staring at Tony under his eyelashes. 

“Hey, kiddo, how we doin’?” He was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed now, running his fingers through Peter’s unruly and tangled hair, still matted with blood and chunks of dirt. 

“ _ Mmm _ \- shoulder hurts” Peter whispered, his forehead creasing as though he had forgotten that he was in pain. “Water?” 

Tony reached over to the bedside table, retrieving a plastic cup of room temperature water with a straw. He held it up to Peter's lips and directed the straw into his waiting mouth. He only took two sips before he was coughing lightly, and Tony was gently setting the cup back down. 

“May’s gonna be here in a bit,” He kept talking as he helped Peter sit up, as he gently rubbed circled between his shoulder blades, carefully avoiding the white bandage that encompassed his injury, “You remember what happened?” 

Peter, up until then, had been perfectly content with  _ not _ thinking about it. He knew that his shoulder hurt and his mouth tasted bad and that if he tried to piece together what had happened, he  _ would  _ get the full story eventually. He didn’t want to though. He was tired and he was pretty sure whatever  _ had _ happened had sucked. It must have if he was in medical, right? Instead of saying that aloud though, he just shook his head, letting his eyes drift closed again

“A building collapsed behind you and a chunk of rebar got shoved through your shoulder. You went full on kebab, kiddo,” 

_ God  _ he wished Tony hadn’t spoken. The mission had been rough and then he remembered swinging and holding tight to something-- no,  _ someone,  _ as he hurdled through the air. Then, the building,  _ the blood,  _ the searing sharp agony that ripped through his whole body. It was coming back in waves and he was drowning.  _ Someone.  _ A boy. What was his name? Matthew? Marvin?  _ Martin.  _ Suddenly, he was back there again, feet planted in the rubble, hands coming up to brace the boy he was trying to rescue, watching as his blood splattered against his own feet. He could hear him whimpering, he could hear him crying. 

The memory had him grasping at the stretched white sheets upon which he was laying, convalescing. It had tears filling his clenched-shut eyes, had him shaking in his bones. 

“Hey,  _ heyheyhey,  _ what’s goin’ on, bud?” Tony asked, frantically eyeing Peter’s IV drip like he knew a damn thing about the level of spidey-strength pain killer that was running through the cannula, like he could do something about it if it turned out he needed another dose. “You, hurtin’,  _ bambino? _ ” He asked, the nickname slipping easily from his lips as he tried to gauge the situation. His hand was back on the kid’s face, feeling for a fever while simultaneously catching the tears as they fell. 

Peter didn’t answer, he kept his eyes shut. Maybe, if he thought about something else, he could block out the memory entirely. Maybe, if he found the strength-- the willpower, he could ignore the aching in his heart that reached up to his throat to choke him. He tried to think about May, but he circled back to the knowledge that she was  _ currently _ on her way to the compound, which meant that she was  _ worried _ about him. That didn’t help. He tried to think about Ned and MJ and school, about the physics test he had next week that he knew he was going to ace. That worked alright, up until he remembered Martin again, how he had just wanted to get back to his mom. How he was probably getting acceptance letters in the mail, about how he deserved the opportunity to  _ go  _ to school, to learn and to make something of himself. The thought of it was so powerful that he couldn’t contain it anymore. 

“Martin--” He sobbed, openly now, ugly and loud, “is he alright?” 

Tony sighed, his eyes filling with a mix between understanding and the strongest kind of empathy. It looked suspiciously like mourning, to Peter anyway, which only served to quicken his breathing. 

“I’m so sorry, kiddo, he- he didn’t make it. You did  _ so  _ good and this wasn’t your fault, alright?” He spoke softly now, hand carding through Peter’s hair again, trying to give him some semblance of peace to cling to. Peter closed his eyes again, pushing his head back into the pillows. He wanted to scream and never stop. He wanted to let the anguish for the boy he  _ barely even knew _ drag him down until he column’t think-- couldn't  _ breathe.  _

“Alright, alright, I know buddy, I know” Tony whispered, silently praying that May would arrive soon. This kid needed more help and Tony needed backup and the whole thing was enough to make him nauseated. 

“He-- he was- he was sup- supposed to go to college, Mr. Stark,” Peter hiccuped, his face turning red with exertion and tears. 

“I know kiddo, I know, It sucks, I’m so sorry,” He needed him to calm down. He was getting so worked up Tony was worried he’d start choking again. “We gotta calm down though, kid, can we take some deep breaths?” He grabbed Peter’s hand and pressed it against his own chest, holding it there with a calloused grip. “Feel that? Try and match your breathing to mine, yeah?” 

In Peter’s defence, an effort  _ was _ made. He opened his mouth and took big gasping gulps of air, sounding strangled and waterlogged. WIth a sigh, Tony slid further up on the twin size bed, leaning his already-complaining back up against the wall behind him. He tugged Peter over, wary of his injured shoulder, and leaned him up against his side, letting his head rest in the space between his collar bone and his neck. 

He didn’t stop moving his fingers through the kid’s hair, whispering reassurances as he did it, until the sobs tapered off to quiet tears.

“You did  _ so  _ good, bud, I promise, you did the absolute best that anyone could have done in that situation.” Peter brought his hand up to grab at the soft material of Tony’s worn T-shirt in lieu of a response. They stayed like that until he drifted off to sleep again, Tony’s arm falling asleep with him. 

May arrived shortly after Peter fell asleep and when she ran through the medbay doors, she was greeted by her sleeping nephew drooling all over his mentor’s shirt, looking worse than she’d seen him in a long time. Tony still had one hand running through chestnut curls, while the other held his phone. He looked up when she walked in, waving slowly so he didn’t disturb Peter.

Tony brought her up to speed as she found her place in the plastic chair at his bedside. She set her purse at her feet and leaned forward so that her forehead rested against Peter’s leg. She was so  _ relieved _ to see him breathing rather than bleeding. The way Tony had described it on the phone had her speeding down the interstate, still in her scrubs, one shoe untied.  _ God  _ she loved that boy, that wonderfully selfless,  _ reckless  _ boy.

Peter slept through until Bruce came back into the room to check on him, and to make sure Tony and May had eaten a proper meal since they’d been there. Tony pried Peter’s hands from his shirt and stood, stretching out the kinks in his neck and popping his back. Bruce fiddled with the lines for a while, adjusting things here and there and swapping out the empty lactated ringer for a fresh one. 

“Should we wake him, see if he wants to eat somethin’?” Tony asked, looking down at the boy who looked so much smaller pressed between the thin cotton sheets. 

“That’s probably a good idea. I’ve been trying to keep him hydrated, but it’d be best if he could get something in his stomach. Especially with his metabolism, and it’d probably help his healing factor too,” Bruce answered, charting Peter’s vitals on his laptop at the end of the bed. 

Tony asked Friday to put in an order for pizza from Peter’s favorite place, adding a large pineapple one for the kid, even though the thought of it made him want to gag. Then he set about waking him up, rubbing at his uninjured shoulder and whispering his name until his tired eyes opened again.

“Hey bud, look who’s here, huh?” Tony whispered, a soft smile ghosting across his lips. Peter turned his head groggily toward May, and started to reach for her before he realized how bad it hurt to move his arm. 

“Hey, baby,” May smiled, bringing her hand to meet his, squeezing his fingers in her firm grasp. “How you feelin?” 

“I’m okay” Peter whispered back, hating how grating and forced it sounded. 

“Tony ordered you a pizza honey, you wanna try and eat something in a little bit?” She was hoping that he would respond with the same enthusiasm he always did, but she wasn’t that surprised when he wrinkled his nose before tipping his head from side to side, as if he couldn't bring himself to say no, but he wasn’t ready to commit to a yes either. 

“You gotta eat somethin, kiddo, it’ll help you feel better I promise,” Tony chimed in, still holding Peter’s other hand. So, he reluctantly whispered a more convincingly affirmative answer before allowing his eyes to drift shut again. He stayed that way, not quite asleep but not quite awake, until the medbay doors opened and Steve walked in carrying three big boxes of pizza.

“Hey, son,” Steve smiled at him, setting their dinner down on a table in the corner of the room. “You did a great job today!” He put slices of pizza onto paper plates and walked them over, pulling up a swivel chair with his leg as he went. They ate in comfortable silence, taking a break every once in a while chatting about everything  _ but _ the mission. Peter seemed to relax as time went by, slowly nibbling on piece after piece of hawaiiian pizza, before his eyelids started to droop again. He would’ve dropped his slice had tony not guided his hand back over his plate.

“Gettin’ tired, bud?” Tony asked, putting the kid’s plate on the nightstand next to his water. Peter nodded, leaning back against the wall, fiddling with the remote on the side of the railing to lower the mattress so that he was once again horizontal. 

May leaned down and kissed his forehead, smoothing his hair back as she whispered her goodnight, promising to be back in the morning. Steve grabbed the kid’s foot through the blanket and shook it gently, before excusing himself to get some rest himself.

Once they were alone again, Peter opened his eyes and looked at Tony, his gaze surprisingly lucid and intense.

“Did his mom find out what happened?” He asked, needing desperately to know the answer. Tony sighed.  _ This kid,  _ he thought.

“Yeah, bud, she did. She was already at the hospital when Sam got there. She was working, I think is what he said, and she got to be there when- she got to be there when he… passed” He whispered. “You did that, kiddo, if you hadn’t gotten to him, she wouldn’t have been able to say goodbye.”

Peter whimpered at that, closing his eyes again before asking “Is there going to be a service?”

“I don’t know, probably,” He answered truthfully, “I can find out, if you want me to,”

“That would- that would be good, I think,” 

“Alright kiddo, you’ve had one hell of a day. Let’s get some rest, huh?” His hand finding its way back into his hair as he nodded. “Okay bud, I’ll be around, holler if you need anything, okay?” 

He turned off the overhead light as he left, leaving the table lamp on, in case Peter needed something in the night. He pulled the door closed on his way out and almost missed it when Peter whispered “I love you,”

And he hoped Peter didn’t miss it when he said “love you, too.”

  
  


The funeral was held a week later, at a memorial garden up close to the mountains. The air was thick and sweet and humid and it almost felt suffocating when Peter took his first step out of the car, clad in a black suit and tie. He walked around for a bit, not talking to anyone, looking at all the different headstones and memorial plaques that followed a curved path through a field of bright grass and colorful flowers. There were some for people May’s age, his age, there were people--  _ kids _ there younger than him, their stones decorated with toy cars and stuffed animals in lieu of fresh cut flowers. Those were the ones that made him the most nauseated.

Before long, a man standing on a small stage announced that the service was about to begin. Peter found his way to the back of the small crowd that had formed under a small tent near the center of the garden. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, we are gathered here to celebrate the life of our very own Martin Williamson, a bright bright light, put out far too soon.” The pastor spoke in that impersonal way they sometimes do at funerals, like they knew the person, but they didn’t really. Like they could tell you their name, but not what their favorite color was.

Sitting in the front row was a woman about May’s age, with her blonde hair curled around her shoulders. She sniffled periodically, wiping her eyes with a tissue she clutched in her small hands. She was flanked on either side by women who looked to be a little older than herself, one with her hand on the middle woman’s shoulder. Peter could tell that they were sitting painfully close to one another, their thighs touching over the nearly nonexistent gap between the chairs. When the pastor had read his opening statement, talked about what God would want the family to know, that they are not alone, that Martin was somewhere  _ so much better,  _ he called the middle woman up to the podium.

“Now, we’ll have a few words from Ms. Whitney Williamson, Martin’s mother.” 

Peter could feel his cheeks heat up, could feel the tears coming into his eyes even as he frantically swiped at them with the side of his fist. 

“Hey, everyone,” She spoke softly into the microphone, standing just on the balls of her feet so that she could reach it without adjusting it. “Thank you all for coming, Marty would’ve loved to have seen you. Always loved being the center of attention, that one, so the fact that we’re all here to talk about  _ him  _ would- would have him-have him so smug I can just see it,” She joked as she stumbled across her words, wiping her eyes again.

She pushed her glasses up on her nose and fiddled with the stack of notecards she held in her hands, looking like a kid in a public speaking class as she stood before her audience to deliver a speech no mother should have to deliver.

“For ten years now, it’s just been me and my boy. Just me and Marty. And I never felt, even once in that entire time that I was missing something, and I don’t think he did either. We were  _ exactly  _ enough for each other. I was  _ so so  _ so lucky to be this boy’s mama.” Tears streamed down as she spoke and she gave up on clearing them away all together. When she finished speaking, she looked around the crowd, as though surveying it. Her eyes locked with Peter’s for just a brief moment, and then drifted away again, but it still felt like a punch to the gut when she opened her mouth to speak again.

“I miss my baby. I miss him  _ so  _ much. And I am so grateful to  _ spiderman _ , wherever he may be, for keeping his heart beating long enough to get to the hospital. For keeping my baby alive long enough for me to hold his hand as he went. Because of Spiderman, my son didn’t die alone, he didn’t die in pain. I will never get to hold him again, but I got to when it counted and I am  _ so _ grateful.”

He wished he could find peace in that. But she didn’t know the whole story. She didn’t know how close they’d come to making it out of there alive. If Peter had just listened closer to his senses, he would’ve heard the bomb coming in would’ve moved them away in time, would’ve gotten him to the hospital in time to do something that mattered. He should’ve heard it. He should’ve heard it.  _ He should’ve heard it. _

The next thing he knew, he had his phone out, Tony’s number pulled up on the screen so he could text him, beg him to come pick him up so he didn’t have to feel this heavy with guilt. It was too much. It was  _ too much,  _ and then he was sobbing, hard, in the background of a funeral for someone he had hardly even met. 

He didn’t even have a chance to hit send on his text before arms were around him, soft and warm and shorter than him. She smelled like lavender and peaches and  _ home _ and Peter didn’t have to open his eyes before he knew who it was. Who was he? To cry into the shoulder of a woman who had just lost her child? Her  _ kid _ was dead and he was feeling sorry for himself, shame so deep it covered him. 

“Alright, I know, honey, I miss him too.” She whispered, holding him tightly against her, a hand settling at the back of his head bringing it to her collarbone. She held him like she knew him, like she loved him. They stood like that for a moment, both crying, both healing. 

And if Tony noticed that Peter seemed a little lighter on the drive back to the compound, he didn’t say anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading i am begging u to let me know how it did i love u

**Author's Note:**

> pls let me know what u think! i love u!


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